


full circle

by fallacied



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Captain America: The First Avenger, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 02:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallacied/pseuds/fallacied
Summary: can you name one hero who was happy?





	full circle

**Author's Note:**

> ☆ watched iw today and it ruined me hELP  
> ☆ alternative title for this is actually "infinity war stevebucky mourning fic"  
> ☆ i am unashamed to say that i started outright sobbing when That Scene happened because i dID NOT SEE IT COMING russo brothers u have done ur job Well  
> ☆ thx for reading also pls hmu if u agree with JUSTICE FOR BUCKY BARNES 2K18 (ongoing since tfa)

i. "steve!"

  
he reaches out to you, mouth torn open in terror.

  
you can see his fingers white-knuckled around the rattling railing, can feel the cruel bite of the wind against your skin, can see how his chest is heaving both with panic and the strain of trying to breathe with his arms stretched out over his head. you are briefly reminded of what the nuns taught you in catholic school, of how jesus suffered on the cross because he had to physically drag himself upwards for every breath. and what happened to jesus in the end? he _died_.

  
the thought shocks you out of your stunned reminiscence; you stretch your hand out to him, the other hand gripping onto the carriage doorway. pray fervently, even though the last time you stepped into a church was when your ma died.

  
the inches between your fingertips stretch like canyons.

  
and it happens in mere milliseconds: the buckle of the railing, the sickening snap as the bolts give way. a howl rips from your throat, and you lunge forward the best you can, but your fingers only close around cold air.

  
he falls, and your name is the last word on his lips.

______________________________________________________

 

ii. "steve?"

  
he ducks his head through the window, reaches out to you.

  
"c'mon out here, punk."

  
you roll your eyes, but take his hand and allow him to pull you out onto the fire escape. brooklyn's relatively cool at this time of the year, though still humid enough that you're only in your trousers and undershirts. shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space, all clammy skin and bumped elbows and nudges to ribs. there's a cigarette butt near your toe, probably from when he was smoking earlier while you were inside, not wanting to trigger your asthma. you smack him upside the head when he kicks it off the fire escape, because "that's a fuckin' asshole move, barnes."

  
he only smirks at you, challenge in his tone when he asks what you're gonna do about it. quirk your eyebrow, make as if you're going to leave - and you find yourself being tugged down into his lap, one arm slung over your shoulder as he hooks his chin over the other side.

  
"fuckin' asshole," you repeat, but melt into his touch all the same, slipping your hand into his and twining your fingers together.

  
"sorry stevie," he says. presses his lips to your cheekbone, lifts the tangle of your fingers so he can pepper kisses on your palm, down your wrist.

  
a better part of the night is spent like that, his body a parenthesis around yours, everything soft and gentle and sweet, all these things you are not, yet what you long for, what he gives to you, and what you return in kind.

  
you cannot make out the constellations in the night sky, but you think that perhaps somewhere out there, vega and altair are casting their glow over the both of you.

___________________________________________________________________

 

iii. "steve..?"

  
he reaches out towards you, takes a step forward.

  
_bucky_ , you want to say. _bucky, it's going to be alright, we can find a way to solve this, we just -_ the words die down in your throat, corpses of thought and breath by the time they reach your lips, because his left arm is disintegrating before you. crumbling to ash, gone with the humid breeze, a plague spreading up to his bicep, his shoulder, his torso.

  
what's going on?

  
there's fear in his eyes, pure, unadulterated fear. the same fear-widened eyes you saw seventy-three years ago, hanging on to the blasted-open doorway of a clattering train carriage. the same fear-brightened eyes that you've relived in night terrors that have had you screaming yourself awake more nights than you have bothered to count in the past six years.

  
you have no time to react before he is gone, lost to the wind. his rifle falls to the dirt ground, and there is nothing left of him but a fluttering of morbid dust-butterflies that settle over the abandoned weapon like an artifact lost to time.


End file.
